Post by Eurydice on Apr 20, 2009 19:51:11 GMT -5
((I've had the mental image of this piece floating around for a while and finally managed to hammer it out into something intelligible. Hope it is suitably in-character for both parties. It still feels incomplete, and I'm not entirely sure how it's supposed to end, but here's what I have so far.))
Water slid off the edge of her umbrella, sometimes in drips, sometimes in sheets, as Elizabeth Preston stood, facing the anonymous, grey warehouse. At the entrance, a cadre of policemen were mulling around, occasionally ducking in and out, trading a grim joke or three. Elizabeth wasn't laughing. Bloody cops, too bloody stupid to even know who it was that had died.
The rain pooled and danced in the uneven pockmarks of the street and sidewalks; it was coming down so hard that, looking back, Elizabeth could scarcely see behind her.
At her side, Will stood hunched, hands jammed in his pockets, staring at the rain-rippled puddles on the ground with a kind of cold fury that she'd never seen in his eyes before. They hadn't spoken since bolting out the front door an hour ago. Elizabeth glanced at him and looked away, still not sure how to break the silence between them. Anything words she could think of rang hollow in her mind's ear. It's not your fault was one thing she did not say. She's at rest now, was another. You're not the only one hurting here, you insensitive little prick was still another.
The bodies had been found side by side, placed there by a third party that no one had yet identified. Blood from multiple wounds was drying all over the floor, and both of their faces had been turned to a bloody pulp, in the way that only a point-blank shot gun blast could do. They had only recognized her by the clothes she was wearing. And in spite of everything, Elizabeth was fairly certain that she recognized the other body as well.
Of course, maybe it was just an erroneous hunch. Will had said that Jo was going out to confront Blake, not die at his side. Maybe it had been a trap for both of them. Maybe one had killed the other before the third man made his move. Or maybe it wasn't Blake; maybe someone else had used his name as a lure to get her on her own. And good God, there were enough secrets that Jo had kept from them; maybe this was one of those, and that was that. Elizabeth closed her eyes. She couldn't care. She wouldn't let herself. She had seen what it was to carry a grudge, what it did to live for vengeance; she had seen what it cost. And that was not what she would become.
Elizabeth focused her mind, disciplined and orderly and neat to drown out the emotional din clambering for her attention. She needed to talk to Jamie, first and foremost. She needed to wire the Barkers. She needed to go through Jo's papers to see what light they might shed on things. That was her job now, the job she had been given, and she would do it.
Rain pattered on the umbrella above her head as she looked at Will. Unsheltered against the tempest, rainwater soaked his hair, traced lines down his cheeks. Hesitantly, she touched his arm. "Will..."
Like lightning, his hand snapped up and clamped on her wrist, yanking it away painfully, sharply enough that he might have broken it, if he had persisted; then, seeming to remember where he was, he blinked, looked at her, and drew away. "Don't," he muttered and set off into the downpour, along the empty boulevard.
Little git. Elizabeth sighed. It was cold and damp and she felt very much alone in the world.
But that was just going to have to wait. There was work to be done, now, and Elizabeth had no intention of shirking her duty.
Puddles splashed and squelched under her boots as she trotted away, heading back toward the main road to hail a Roy, whose wheels sent dirty rainwater flying to soak her trousers from the knee down, an icy sting against her calves. She barely noticed.
Fall, 1883
Water slid off the edge of her umbrella, sometimes in drips, sometimes in sheets, as Elizabeth Preston stood, facing the anonymous, grey warehouse. At the entrance, a cadre of policemen were mulling around, occasionally ducking in and out, trading a grim joke or three. Elizabeth wasn't laughing. Bloody cops, too bloody stupid to even know who it was that had died.
The rain pooled and danced in the uneven pockmarks of the street and sidewalks; it was coming down so hard that, looking back, Elizabeth could scarcely see behind her.
At her side, Will stood hunched, hands jammed in his pockets, staring at the rain-rippled puddles on the ground with a kind of cold fury that she'd never seen in his eyes before. They hadn't spoken since bolting out the front door an hour ago. Elizabeth glanced at him and looked away, still not sure how to break the silence between them. Anything words she could think of rang hollow in her mind's ear. It's not your fault was one thing she did not say. She's at rest now, was another. You're not the only one hurting here, you insensitive little prick was still another.
The bodies had been found side by side, placed there by a third party that no one had yet identified. Blood from multiple wounds was drying all over the floor, and both of their faces had been turned to a bloody pulp, in the way that only a point-blank shot gun blast could do. They had only recognized her by the clothes she was wearing. And in spite of everything, Elizabeth was fairly certain that she recognized the other body as well.
Of course, maybe it was just an erroneous hunch. Will had said that Jo was going out to confront Blake, not die at his side. Maybe it had been a trap for both of them. Maybe one had killed the other before the third man made his move. Or maybe it wasn't Blake; maybe someone else had used his name as a lure to get her on her own. And good God, there were enough secrets that Jo had kept from them; maybe this was one of those, and that was that. Elizabeth closed her eyes. She couldn't care. She wouldn't let herself. She had seen what it was to carry a grudge, what it did to live for vengeance; she had seen what it cost. And that was not what she would become.
Elizabeth focused her mind, disciplined and orderly and neat to drown out the emotional din clambering for her attention. She needed to talk to Jamie, first and foremost. She needed to wire the Barkers. She needed to go through Jo's papers to see what light they might shed on things. That was her job now, the job she had been given, and she would do it.
Rain pattered on the umbrella above her head as she looked at Will. Unsheltered against the tempest, rainwater soaked his hair, traced lines down his cheeks. Hesitantly, she touched his arm. "Will..."
Like lightning, his hand snapped up and clamped on her wrist, yanking it away painfully, sharply enough that he might have broken it, if he had persisted; then, seeming to remember where he was, he blinked, looked at her, and drew away. "Don't," he muttered and set off into the downpour, along the empty boulevard.
Little git. Elizabeth sighed. It was cold and damp and she felt very much alone in the world.
But that was just going to have to wait. There was work to be done, now, and Elizabeth had no intention of shirking her duty.
Puddles splashed and squelched under her boots as she trotted away, heading back toward the main road to hail a Roy, whose wheels sent dirty rainwater flying to soak her trousers from the knee down, an icy sting against her calves. She barely noticed.